


And Physical Pain is Mental

by TheImmortalThiefLord



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImmortalThiefLord/pseuds/TheImmortalThiefLord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before (Mental Pain Is Physical) happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Physical Pain is Mental

"Come here, let me see," Lincoln beckons Octavia to him. She limps over to him, cradling her arm as she settles next to him on the floor. Gently he unwraps the makeshift bandage. The wound itself is pretty bad, and Lincoln can tell that the bullet is still in her shoulder.

Octavia winces as she pulls of the bandage but she manages to let him touch it without crying out.

"How bad is it?" she asks.

Lincoln knows she'll be able to tell if he's lying to her, so he opts for a softer version of the truth.

"It's pretty deep, but I don't think it's hit anything crucial. But Octavia," he sweeps the hair off her face, "I'm going to have to pull it out. And it's going to hurt. A lot."

Octavia nods and sets her teeth. "What the hell, I've been through worse. Go for it."

Lincoln knows she's putting on a brave face for him. He covers her hand with his own and she grips it as though her life depends upon it. Reaching with his other hand for a pair of tweezers, he inserts them carefully into Octavia's shoulder, searching for the bullet. Her death grip on his hand becomes even harder, he's fairly certain that he has no blood in his hand right now.

Finally he feels something hard, and he grabs onto it with the tweezers, pulling the bullet out. Octavia lets out a string of curses that would make even the dirtiest of grounders blush, her nails biting into her palm. She's fairly certain she can feel blood trickling out of her fist, but at this point, she could seriously care less.

Because she is feeling faint from the pain, she barely sees the red-hot blade coming before it burns into her shoulder. She screams, tears forced into her eyes, crying unashamedly. She can't feel anything as Lincoln finds a clean piece of cloth to wrap around her shoulder. Nausea sets in, and she starts retching on the floor. The acid burns her throat. 

Fevered dreams follow, dreams of swords and grounders and the white paint of the reapers. She dreams that Lincoln is one of them again, that he's eating Bellamy alive. She tries to stop him, but her sword in snapped in two.

Octavia knows she's moving, but she can't figure out how. Blond hair and white skin float in and out of her dreams. Then her pain takes over her mind completely, and she falls unconscious.

By the time she wakes up, Clarke's nails are bitten to a quick and Lincoln's pacing feet have traced deep patterns in the floor. The second Clarke see's Octavia open her eyes she calls for Lincoln and rushes over to her.

"Hey O, how are you feeling?" she asks, placing a cool hand on Octavia's forehead. Octavia tries to nod, but everything feels like lead. She's still not entirely sure if she's dreaming or not. Her eyes close again, and the last thing she remembers in Clarke's cool touch and Lincoln's worried gaze.

She awakes again, a couple days later, her head and shoulder both feeling much better. Sitting up, she locates a glass of water and drinks it all down. She hears someone calling her name. "Octavia, O you're awake!" Bellamy and Clarke burst into the tent, Lincoln only a step behind. They rush to her bedside.

"Oh, O, I thought you would never wake up," Bellamy crushes her under a hug. She tries to push him off. 

"I'm fine, Bel! See?" she moves her arm around. "All better."

Octavia is fairly certain she sees tears in Clarke's eyes, and she knows Lincoln is barely holding himself together.

"How long was I out?"

"About five days in all I think," Clarke tells her. "We were starting to worry you'd never wake up. What Lincoln did to your wound probably saved you, it was a lot worse than any of us thought."

Lincoln silently takes her hand. His grip is firm and strong, a promise to never let her go.

"Sleep now, my little warrior," he tells her. His hand strokes her hair as she falls back into a deep, resting sleep.


End file.
